Everyone could feel in their bones that the moment was approaching. There was a buzz in the place, an undeniable magnetic force, pulling us all to the same room. People were a-quiver. A-dither. A-twitter. And at the appointed hour, it came, and it did not disappoint.
PARACHUTE TIME.
The lil’ monkey had just been queueing up for the bathroom when she felt the feeling in her joints, and had to go. I mean, go to PARACHUTE TIME.
“Sweetie, I’m all for you getting jiggy with the parachute, but are you sure? Are you really sure? Can you hold it in for the whole dealie?”
“Yes, Baba, yes!” She was breathless. Put me in, coach, put me in!
“Alright then. Just remember, whenever you need to, we can always cut out and make a beeline for the potty.”
“I won’t need to, Baba, I won’t need to. I can hold it.” And she did.
What I enjoyed, almost as much as her parachute time joy (and her brother’s fascination, as he watched it): two other lesbian dads/butch mamas in the place that day, in addition to moi. I nearly peed me britches with enthusiasm.
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Lesbian Dad is written by a parent who answers to the name "Baba" and works toward a world in which amor does indeed vincit omnia. 
Y'all just make me smile. Plain & simple. 
But you held it too, right? Like Baba, like daughter. Or maybe I should say, like daughter, like Baba.
It sounds like a wonderful time. Thanks, as always, for sharing your stories and pictures.
You are so, so welcome. It’s really, truly, an honor. A constant amazement that it’s anything besides me, and maybe a handful of friends and family watching.
And sister, regarding the Herculean effort I exerted, I will say it weren’t as easy as one might think. One three-syllable word that even the girlie knows: Men-o-pause.
Man, parachute time looks like fun! I want to go! (to parachute time, not the bathroom. well, unless I really need to …)